


Liability

by whiteduck6



Category: Z Nation (TV)
Genre: Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Panic Attacks, Sensory Overload, Team as Family, autistic 10k, internalized ableism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-28
Updated: 2018-09-28
Packaged: 2019-07-18 18:34:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,124
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16124336
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whiteduck6/pseuds/whiteduck6
Summary: 10k is a liability.





	Liability

**Author's Note:**

> I only posted my last fanfic like 2 days ago I know but I had this one half finished and wanted to complete it, so ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯

They’re holed up in a pharmacy the first time it happens with the group.

The pharmacy has a pretty standard layout, but someone in the past three years had the forethought to board up the huge windows at the front of it. Addy and Roberta are standing near the door, weapons drawn. Cassandra and Mack are flanking them with pistols. Doc is rummaging through the back, trying to get any medicine he can find. Murphy is with him, probably drinking mouthwash.

10k is on top of a shelf, lying on his stomach. He’s got his gun set up and is ready to provide covering fire — although he’s not sure how useful he’s going to be in an enclosed space like this one. 

The zombies outside have been groaning since they woke up this morning. It’s actually what woke 10k in the first place — it was the start of the series of unfortunate events that was this day.

He hums lowly as he taps his fingers against his gun. He needs to hear something other than the constant drone of the zees outside, and the anxiety that’s building in his gut isn’t really helping either. 

He takes a deep breath and lets it out again. He repeats the action a few more times, trying to just listen to the sounds of his breathing, but his damn thoughts keep running away from him.

_What if the zees get in? What if they kill Roberta and Addy? What if they tip the shelf he’s lying on? What if they eat him alive? What if—_

“I can hear you thinking, 10k,” Addy says. 

10k shakes his head a little. _Think about something else. Think about something else. One, two, three, four—_

A zombie pounds its fist against the window and screeches, and 10k feels his throat closing up. He closes his eyes. _Five, six, seven, eight, nine—_

Murphy swaggers in with a little plastic martini glass in one hand. “I’m keeping this,” he says to no one in particular. The words scrape across 10k’s skin like zee claws.

_Ten eleven twelve thirteen fourteen_

“Don’t take that,” Roberta scolds, “it’s not worth anything. It’ll just take up space.”

_fifteensixteenseventeeneighteennineteen_

10k is still aware enough to take his finger off the trigger before he clenches his hands into fists so tight his knuckles hurt and his blunt nails try valiantly to pierce the skin on his hands. They’re too gun-calloused for that, they became that way a long time ago. 

Somewhere he dimly recognizes that he’s pulled his knees up under his chest, aching for that pressure, the weight of something on him, and his gun is abandoned on the shelf, and his fists are tucked into his chest, and he’s breathing heavily enough to attract notice.

He feels a hand on his arm and he blindly strikes. He wants to crawl out of his skin, he certainly doesn’t need anyone else touching it. He needs to get his fleece out of his bag. It’s in the back room. Past Murphy. Past Doc. 

It might as well be on the other side of the country. 

He hears a feminine cry of pain and feels a little bad, but his physical discomfort gets ramped up to eleven when someone starts shouting. 

He hears a little bit of a scuffle, but not too much else. He’s humming louder now, low in his throat, which is controlling his hyperventilating a little but runs the risk of attracting more zombies if it gets too loud. 

The commotion below him gets louder, which in turn makes him feel worse, and it’s a vicious cycle until he’s full-on rocking, crouching on top of the shelf and flapping his hands manically beside him as he keens and presses his knees into his chest, needing every sense stimulated and none of them touched at the same time. 

Finally, the arguments settle down and he’s left to his own devices — so he assumes, he closed his eyes a while ago and hasn’t opened them. Even bright colours bother him when he’s in that state. He didn’t need the harsh fluorescents or Addy’s hair to set him off even more. 

The panic works its way out of him eventually. He stops rocking as harshly, then he stops entirely. The flapping becomes tapping, then just rubbing his palms over his pants. He manages to stop humming finally, and then he knows he’s in the clear. 

He’s not sure if he can talk quite yet, but he’ll cross that bridge when he gets to it. 

When he’s calmed down enough, he crosses his legs for a moment, then swings them down so his feet are dangling off the shelf. Everyone’s looking at him. 

“What the hell, 10k?” Mack bursts, taking a step forward. Roberta grabs him by the arm, and 10k leaps right back onto the shelf, the harsh tone of Mack’s voice scraping across his skin like steel wool. 

“Stop it!” Addy shouts back, grabbing his other arm and putting herself between Mack and 10k. “He didn’t mean it. It didn’t mean anything.”

“Lay off him, Mack,” Cassandra says. “And keep your voice down — you’ll attract zees.”  
Mack’s nostrils flare and his mouth twists into the beginnings of a snarl but he doesn’t go any further. 10k curls his hands into fists and draws his knees up closer to himself. 

10k opens his mouth but it seems speech is evading him for now. He looks around a little. God, how was he going to explain this one?

He points his index fingers and bicycles them in front of him. It’s the sign for sign language, one of the first ones he learned. His dad told him to use it if he couldn’t talk.

The group looks at him blankly — or he assumes they do. He can’t even make the effort to look at an eyebrow or a nose to make it look like he’s making eye contact. He keeps his eyes at knee-level or lower, and catches glimpses of facial expressions out of the corner of his eye.

How is he going to talk to them if he _can’t talk?_

The panic attack is gone but the sensory overload is still there and the thought of touching pencil to paper right now sends chills down his spine but it seems like it’s the only option he’s got. 

He grimaces as he holds one hand out flat and drags his index finger across his palm a couple times. His hands are still a little sweaty so it doesn’t have the uncomfortable dry friction it normally does. Thank god for small blessings. 

“Oh! Paper?” Addy asks, a little louder than normal. Maybe it’s just 10k. He flinches a bit when he hears it, and then instantly feels bad when he sees the very clear slap mark on her cheek and over her eye. He must have caught her. That would explain Mack’s reaction.

He nods, gesturing at her face and curling his hand into a fist, rubbing it a few times on his chest. _Sorry._

She looks like she doesn’t know the sign, but she shrugs. “I’ve done stupid stuff when I’m panicked,” she says, then hurries off to find paper. Mack glares at him. 10k avoids his eyes.

A few moments of deeply uncomfortable silence later, Addy is back. She hands him a prescription pad and a stub of a pencil. Dragging the graphite along the paper is like nails on a chalkboard, but he manages to get a few words off. He tears the paper off and hands the sheet to Addy.

“Panic attack. Overload. Sorry.” She reads. 

Addy looks around. Murphy seems to not even be paying attention — he’s stealing condoms in the corner. 10k supposes that’s good. He was expecting more razzing for that one. Mack still looks pissed. 

Roberta shrugs. “Like Addy said,” she says, looking completely neutral, “we’ve all panicked before.”

Doc has the same neutrality on his face as Roberta, but he maybe looks a little more worried. 10k cups his hand just below his collarbone, then sweeps his hand down to the bottom of his ribs. He opens his hand, palm-down, and taps his thumb to his chest a couple times. _I’m fine. ___

__“No one enjoys the silent treatment, kid,” Murphy drawls. He’s wandered over to them, presumably done with going over the slim pickings of the pharmacy, and has his hands in his pockets. The flaky texture of his skin is too much for 10k. He doesn’t even look at Murphy._ _

__“Shucks, I didn’t think I looked that bad,” Murphy says, very obviously giving himself a once-over. 10k sort of hums — really the only noise he can make right now — and drops off the shelf he’s sitting on. He knows, logically, he should be up there, but emotionally, he wants to get something soft on his skin right now and be as far away from the background choir of the zombies as possible._ _

__He sets his feet on the ground as gently as possible and shuffles over to the back room. It’s where they’ve been staying, as far from the front door as possible. He doesn’t lift his boots from the ground as he walks, sliding his feet against the smooth Lino floor._ _

__By the time he finds his bag, the sensation of the glossy floors against his shoes is the only sensation he can handle. Even the air against his skin feels too rough, like he imagines a sandstorm would feel like._ _

__The zipper on his bag is like a chainsaw, or maybe like that time Murphy tried to hot-wire a motorbike and almost blew it up. He pulls it open tooth by tooth, gritting his teeth against the sound._ _

__When it’s finally open, 10k still has to delve in amongst the cans of food, the rough paper wrappers scraping against his fingers like the gentle caress of zee teeth. He finally fishes out his blanket and pulls it out, draping it over himself, even over his head so he can’t see anything._ _

__He crouches on the floor with the blanket until the air gets too stale and humid to breathe, and even then, he only lifts up one edge a little with his cheek pressed to the cool floor, the blanket covering his closed eyes but exposing his mouth and nose._ _

__He stays there for what seems like hours, until he can force a few words out of his dry throat and doesn’t feel like he’s going to peel off his skin. He keeps the blanket on him for as long as possible, wishing he had something weighted._ _

__He takes a deep breath, squeezing himself around the ribs as he does so to get maximum pressure, and breathes out slowly, trying to brace himself for the inevitable barrage of questions._ _

___What was that?_ _ _

___What’s wrong with you?_ _ _

___Are you gonna be a liability?_ _ _

___I can make it on my own,_ he tells himself, forcing his breathing to slow. _I’ve done it before, I can do it again.__ _

__It’s going to hurt this time, but he’ll be fine. He can take care of himself._ _

__He gathers up his things and heads out into the hall. He flicks his eyes to the back door._ _

___Probably nothing out there. Could just slip away._ _ _

__He glances back to the door that will take him to the group._ _

__He scrawls out a note on the paper he took with him._ _

___Sorry about that. See you. Good luck._ _ _

__He slings his bag over his shoulder and leaves through the back door._ _

__—_ _

__He manages to sneak away around the building and across the street. The zombies are still clawing at the windows. There’s at least thirty of them. Too many for the group to take on their own._ _

__He ducks into the gardening store across the street and tears open a bag of the big, heavy gravel people use in rock gardens. He drags it up to the roof and poises himself at the edge._ _

__He digs out his slingshot, loads it with a rock and smacks a zombie in the back of the head. Its head explodes all over its friends, who don’t seem to notice._ _

__10k clears the entire horde._ _

__He slips a few rocks into his pockets for later and is about to leave when the door opens._ _

__He sees Roberta come out and he makes sure he’s out of sight before he listens in to their conversation. No harm keeping little clips of their voices in his heads, fresh in his memory._ _

__“Hey, someone cleared them.” Roberta._ _

__“I’ll get 10k.” Addy._ _

__There’s a few moments of silence, then muffled voices._ _

__“Check out the back!” Roberta says. “I’ll look here.”_ _

__“If he doesn’t want to be found, he isn’t going to be found,” Doc says. 10k can’t quite tell because he’s not good at reading tones when he doesn’t have faces to go with, but he sounds sad._ _

__“We’ll find him,” Roberta says._ _

__10k’s throat is tight._ _

__“10k!” Addy screams from behind the store. “10k!”_ _

__“Come on, you’re making me look, too?” Murphy grumbles. “Doc’s right, he’s probably across the freakin’ country by now.”_ _

__“He’s our teammate,” Roberta snarls, “now I suggest you move your bony ass before I move it for you!”_ _

__Murphy grumbled about something else but didn’t say anything audible._ _

___Should I go back for them?_ _ _

___No, they’ll find someone else._ _ _

___You’re a liability,_ adds a voice that sound remarkably like almost every other person he’s met since the dead started rising. _ _

__He turns to leave, trying to keep himself below eye level as he makes his way off the roof. He climbs back down onto the main floor of the gardening store and nearly runs right into Cassandra._ _

__“Hey!” She says, grabbing his arms tightly. “Why were you leaving?”_ _

__“Doesn’t matter,” he says, “let me go.”_ _

__“No!” She says, holding him in an iron grip. “You’re my friend, 10k, so I’m sorry to say you’re not getting away that easy.”_ _

__10k struggles for a few moments, then stops, then opens and closes his mouth a few times as he tries to figure out how to put this._ _

__“You don’t want that happening again,” he says, very intentionally looking over her shoulder. “It’s dangerous. I don’t know if you noticed, but I’m kind of useless when I’m like that.”_ _

__Cassandra gives him a look. “So?” She says. “You think we keep Murphy around because he’s such a great strategist?”_ _

__“No, but he’s immune—“_ _

__“ _My point,_ ” Cassandra says, “is that it’s okay. Listen, I . . . I won’t make you go back if you’re really set on leaving. But let me assure you, no one there wants to see you go. You’ve saved our asses more times than we can count. And yeah, you have bad days sometimes. So does everyone. It’s the zombie apocalypse — we have more bad days than good ones. But you’re damn useful, and don’t let anyone tell you otherwise.”_ _

__Cassandra lets go of him._ _

__He could run. She’s tiny, he could overpower her even if she caught him._ _

__He doesn’t._ _

__“You’re sure . . . it’s okay?” He mutters. “I’m a drawback.”_ _

__Cassandra looks at him. “You’re not,” she said, “do you think Addy’s a drawback?”_ _

__“No, she’s a badass.”_ _

__“Exactly. And she has panic attacks. Regularly. But you don’t judge her for it, do you?”_ _

__“No . . .”_ _

__“Because there’s nothing to judge. Everyone has stuff. Everyone has baggage. It’s part of being human. You’re coming back with me. And you can ask the others for yourself.”_ _

__She grabs him by the wrist and drags him out of the store._ _

__Addy barrels up to him and throws her arms around him, laughing a little wetly into his neck._ _

__“Jesus, dude, what was that?” She says, pulling away to look at him. “What were you thinking?”_ _

__10k doesn’t respond — he’s not really sure what he could say. Addy of all people is loyal to the group above all else._ _

__Doc is the next to talk to him. He grabs 10k by the shoulders and shakes him a little crazily._ _

__“Don’t scare me like that, kid!” He says, “Almost gave me a heart attack.”_ _

__His voice is a little thick. 10k doesn’t comment._ _

__“10k, can I talk to you?” Roberta says. 10k shrugs and lets her lead him away._ _

__“Seriously, what was that?” She asks once they’re a few metres away from the group. Cassandra’s talking to them. 10k dreads to think what she’s saying. “Are you sick of us? Do you want to try to go on your own again?”_ _

__“No, no,” 10k says, “nothing like that, but, what happened today, I was a disadvantage, to you, to everyone, and I was thinking it might be better if I made it on my own.”_ _

__Roberta gives him a look like she can read his mind._ _

__“No one thinks you’re a burden, 10k,” she says quietly. “You don’t have to worry. We’re a family.”_ _

__10k looks away. “Yeah,” he says._ _

__“Do you believe me?”_ _

__“Yeah.” He doesn’t._ _

__Roberta looks at him for a few more moments. “We cleared out the pharmacy; we should be going. Get in the truck with the others. I’ll meet you there in a few.”_ _

__10k climbs into the truck bed beside Cassandra as quietly as he can. She turns to look at him anyway._ _

__“You need a haircut,” she says. “I was a hairdresser, pre-z. Can I cut your hair? It’s getting shaggy.”_ _

__10k runs his fingers through his hair. It is._ _

__“Sure,” he says, and Cassandra starts digging in her bag._ _

__She comes up with a fashion magazine and flips it open. She shows him a picture of a guy with hair that’s short on the sides and long on the top, almost similar to Murphy’s when they first found him._ _

__“I was thinking something like this,” Cassandra says, “but your hair is so thick we can pretty much do anything with it. If that’s a little close to Murphy, there’s also this one . . .”_ _

__She turns to a different page, showing him another picture. She keeps up the stream of idle chatter and 10k doesn’t really know what she’s talking about, but he’s grateful for the distraction._ _

__“10k shouldn’t cut his hair,” Addy cuts in, dropping into the truck bed heavily. “He should grow it out, like an elf.”_ _

__“An elf?” Cassandra scoffs. “If you’re going to do the elf aesthetic, you have to go the whole way — tunics, shiny pants, high boots.”_ _

__“You’re just describing Prince,” Mack says as he gets into the truck._ _

__10k feels his chest fill up as Cassandra and Addy bicker. He’s starting to think Roberta was right._ _

__They were a family._ _

__They were going to keep him around._ _

__He wasn’t going to be alone again._ _

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading! I know that was a little angstier than normal but I wanted to explore something with internalized ableism because I think that's something that would really come out in the apocalypse. I'm on the spectrum myself and I wouldn't consider myself disabled but I know in a survival scenario there are people who absolutely would. I might mess around with the backstory of why 10k has this self-doubt in the future! 
> 
> As always, constructive criticism is welcomed!


End file.
